


as far from god (as heaven is wide)

by Anonymous



Category: Garbage (Band), Nine Inch Nails (Band)
Genre: Banter, Dominant Shirley, F/M, Hate Sex, Riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:02:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23555761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Shirley knows that she's more evil than Trent, and she knows exactly how to show it.
Relationships: Trent Reznor/Shirley Manson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6
Collections: Anonymous





	as far from god (as heaven is wide)

"Who do ya think ya are, pretty boy?"

Her words drip with poison, pure fury intoxicatingly woven with a thick Scottish accent. The girl is fucking pissed. 

From afar, Trent doesn't think anything of her. She hardly seems like a threat, a tiny little redheaded thing wrapped in some ridiculous metallic silver number. 

He thinks that he might recognize her from a video or two that he's seen Kennedy play, but that isn't saying much.

The point is, he can't put a name to her face to save his life, and, considering everyone he knows, that means she's probably on the fast track to becoming a nobody. 

Seeing that she decided to make a beeline for him as soon as their eyes incidentally met from across the room, he takes the time to take her in now. 

Her green eyes are ringed with somewhat-thick black eyeliner, in an attempt to make her look less like the frontwoman of some easily-digestable pop group, he figures. Her bright red lips curve into a sneer as she continues to spit angry words at him. 

"You think that you're big and bad, don't ya? That ya can talk shit about whoever ya want?" 

Before he can even see it coming, she reaches out, shoves him back into the wall. Given, there wasn't much force behind it, but Trent's still shocked as his back hits the wall, a bit of his drink splashing onto his shirt. 

Though he'd probably be pissed off if he were sober, Trent finds his lips curving up into a self-assured grin as he meets the woman's flashing eyes. 

"Who the fuck are you?" he asks calmly.

The woman huffs, physically seeming to be fuming. She straightens her spine, and Trent sees that she's just as tall as he is. 

"I'm Shirley fuckin' Manson, that's who," she says, and the pride in her voice is almost laughable. Like that name should mean something to him. 

Trent just stares at her blankly, the corners of his mouth twitching. "Manson? Like Charles? Guy I came here with uses that name, too. Good luck getting anywhere when you have to compete with him." 

"I'm already competing with him, asshole!" she spits back. "And if that fucker wanted to fight me right now, I'd knock him the fuck out."

Trent blinks, considers calling Brian over here to get a load of this. Then he worries that this rabid fox of a girl might actually act on her threat to try and start a fight with him, and Brian might fight back, and he is not going to be responsible for his protege hitting a lady, even if she doesn't act like much of one. 

So he just stands there and lets her keep talking for now.

And she is doing plenty of talking. 

"I know who Marilyn Manson is," she continues, "and I certainly know who you are, Mr. Reznor. I have to say, you are grooming your fake antichrist quite nicely. The two of ya are very clearly two sides of the same coin."

She smiles then, but there's absolutely no friendliness there. After years in the industry, Trent knows a fake smile when he sees one, but this might even be something a bit more sinister than that. 

In fact, she might just be baring her teeth at him. 

"Ya talk the talk, alright," she says, her voice finally lowering from the furious cacophony she had previously been throwing at him, "but I know that if it came down to it, I could make ya walk off with your tail tucked between your legs."

Her grin broadens, and she looks disturbingly sweet, despite all the things she just said. 

"I'm a dangerous woman, Trent," she says, suddenly sounding so cool and collected. "Ya wouldn't want to fuck with me."

Right now, there are a lot of feelings coming to Trent that he doesn't quite know what to do with, and, considering his halfway drunken state, they're sort of all muddled together. 

He's kind of annoyed by this woman's obvious ego, when, for all he knows, she could be a deranged groupie in disguise. Another part of him thinks it's funny, something actually new in this party scene that might entertain him. A big part of him is just confused, because really, who is she?

And then there's the part of him that's kinda turned on. God knows why. 

Whatever the case, all these thoughts give him some incentive to continue playing her game.

The only way to do that right, he figures, is to continue pissing her off. And it's not like that's difficult. 

He just keeps smirking at her, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans back into the wall, as if he'd been standing this way all along. 

"And what makes you so much more important than me, Shirley?" 

The way that he says her name obviously strikes a chord, causing her to become visibly tense. At this point, her demeanor reminds him of a rubber band, about to snap. 

"Because I'm clearly not as self-important as you are, ya fuckin' twat," she says. "And I'm already playing with the big boys. I've got a band, too, ya know." 

"Oh, yeah?" Trent questions. "What band?"

Though she might try to hide it, Shirley's porcelain face is flushed bright red. "Garbage," she says. 

He chuckles. "Jesus. Hope the name isn't indicative of quality."

Then he freezes as recognition dawns.

Oh, shit. This is actually starting to make sense. 

"Oh," he says. "You're in Butch Vig's band, right?"

Shirley says nothing, her face growing redder and redder. Trent thinks it'd be safe to take that as a 'yes.'

"Well, that makes a lot of sense," he continues, "because 'garbage' is actually the exact word I used to describe that remix he gave me a few years back." 

With that, Shirley's back goes up like a cat ready to pounce, her metaphorical claws coming out in the form of long black fingernails.

"Fuck you, Trent!" she yells. "Ya wanna go, right here, right now? Cause I'll fuckin' go, I can tell ya that!" 

Trent's not going to take this kind of bait. He'd sooner start making out with Richard again, or maybe go curl up in Steve Gottlieb's lap. 

"Can't do that," he replies plainly. "I don't put my hands on girls."

Shirley scoffs. "I am not a girl," she says. "I'm a woman, thank you."

"Well, I don't put my hands on women, then." Trent straightens his stature, standing his ground a good three feet away from her. "You could do almost anything to me, and I still wouldn't rough you up. Why do you think I don't have a chick guitarist? If I did half the shit to someone like you, or Courtney Love, that I do to Robin, I'd be thrown in jail. And I wouldn't be able to sleep at night ever again."

Clearly unmoved, Shirley rolls her eyes. "How very courteous," she says sarcastically. "And what a way to prove my point, big guy!"

Her grin reemerges, strangely sinister. "So you won't put your hands on a lady... But you'd let a lady put her hands all over you?"

Well, when she puts it that way...

Now he's the one blushing. Suddenly, he finds himself tongue-tied. "I–"

"Cat got your tongue, pretty boy?" Shirley purrs. "Well, that's a damn shame, isn't it?"

Slowly, she slinks closer to him. He doesn't move as one of her pale, elegant hands reaches for his arm. From there, it crawls up to his shoulder. 

"I'm still fuckin' pissed, ya know." She jabs the side of his face lightly with her pointer finger, an odd, slightly-invasive gesture. "And if ya won't fight me, there are only a few things that we can do about that."

Her gaze meets his then, and he can swear that he sees the devil in those coal-lined eyes of hers.

"How's say we try to find a bedroom in this joint?" she asks.

In that very moment, Trent knows one thing for sure: nothing good can come from this now. If he keeps going along with this, he'll be at the point of no return.

But he doesn't deny her. 

He follows her inside the open bedroom that she finds, as obedient as a faithful dog. 

He knows exactly what's coming, even before Shirley closes and locks the door. Face still burning, he guides himself back onto the bed, watching with wide, helpless eyes as she stands before him. 

She stares down at him for a moment, only allowing him to catch a fleeting glimpse of a very genuine-looking smile on her face before grabbing the bottom of her black crop top and slowly lifting it over her head.

She comes back up, her medium-length red hair slightly disheveled as she drops the garment to the floor. 

Trent's eyes settle on her lacey black bra for a moment before she speaks again, commanding his attention to her voice rather than her body. 

"I'm not going to let you do this," she says. "I never let men like you undress me. You're much too nervous." She grins before beginning to work her way out of that skin-tight silver skirt. "Ain't that humiliating?"

Though Trent isn't quite sure if she really wants him to answer that, he clears his throat to speak. "Uh... kind of..."

"I figured as much." 

Now, save for her underwear, she's completely bare.

Trent feels his breath hitch. Though he hadn't initially found her very interesting at all, there's something unconventionally beautiful about her, with her compact form and luminescent skin, hair and makeup already looking just a bit disheveled from the night thus far. 

By the time she climbs into his lap, he's already feeling sort of dizzy.

This is not where he thought tonight would take him. 

It doesn't take long for Shirley to pick up on his tension. "Ah, love..." she says, voice so oddly gentle it makes his head spin even more. "You look so nervous." She meets his eyes, giving him a saccharine smile. "Are ya thinkin' about changin' your mind?" 

He shakes his hand. "No, ma'am."

Before Trent can even think about the honorific that just passed his own lips, Shirley is taking obvious delight in it. "Ma'am. I like that. Atta boy." 

Shit, her voice is condescending. 

He's beginning to think he's met his match. 

She leans closer to him, glossy scarlet lips close enough to brush his, before she stops.

"Kiss me," she says.

That's an order. As someone who throws around plenty of orders himself, Trent knows this damn well.

Usually, he wouldn't take kindly to this. But right here, with her, he can't do anything but oblige.

His lips collide with hers, passionate and a bit violent. Shirley quickly takes this as an invitation to try and one up him, adding tongue and teeth to the equation without any hesitation whatsoever. 

Then she pulls away, leaving Trent panting. 

"Good," she says again. "I'd wager you do that a lot?"

Sheepishly, Trent nods.

Shirley remains mum to his response. "Well, I betcha none of your little Goth groupies have been anything like me." She giggles to herself. "Because I know exactly who you are, Trent Reznor. I just don't care." 

She wriggles out of his lap before snapping her fingers. "Stand up."

Trent obeys.

Then she's grabbing at his shirt and reaching to unbutton and unzip his pants. He can swear that no woman has ever gotten him naked so quickly before. 

"Bed," she demands, and he obliges without even thinking, as if she had just as much control over his mind as she currently does over his body. 

Then she's straddling him, totally prone, though she still has her bra and underwear on. "How pretty you look," she coos, "though I reckon you already know that, Mr. Rockstar."

She runs a quick hand down the side of his face before reaching back to unclasp her bra. Once her breasts are exposed, she looks back at him. 

"Like what you see?" she asks.

Swallowing, Trent nods. "You look… you're…"

She places a finger against his lips. "Don't say 'beautiful,'" she says. "I save that for people whose guts I don't fucking hate."

Not sure what else to do, Trent just nods.

Shirley raises her hips slightly to pull off her panties before hovering over him. "You ready?" she asks.

In truth, he's more than ready, but there's one nagging thought at the back of his mind. "Are you, um, – are you on the pill?"

She laughs. "Of course. And I'm clean, too. What about you?"

"Oh, yeah," he says. "I, um… make sure of that."

So awkward, he chastises himself. You're a fucking idiot, Trent. 

Not wishing to dwell on his idiocy any longer, he hesitantly leans in to kiss her. 

As Shirley reciprocates, she sinks down on him, enveloping him in her warmth. 

He comes up from the kiss cursing. "Shit," he hisses. 

Shirley doesn't reply. Her eyeliner-streaked face is one of deep concentration as she begins to roll her hips. 

As she falls into a rhythm, a husky moan breaks up from her throat, and Trent swears it's the hottest thing he's ever heard from a woman, – and that's saying something."Ah… God…" 

Trent gives a low groan in response, closing his eyes. 

He doesn't think he can keep looking at her if he wants to last any time at all. 

All of it is just a lot... Almost too much…

"Open your fucking eyes."

As soon as she tells him to, he does. 

"Good boy," she forces out as she rides him harder. "Good, good boy... Dammit…"

Before he can question what she's doing, she grabs one of his hands, guides it between her legs. "Right there..." she says. "That's where I need you to touch me."

He nods. This is something he's done with other girls, too, but Shirley's much more aggressive about it. Hell, he's starting to think she's more aggressive about everything. 

"Harder," she orders, "I'm not gonna break... Oh, yes, yeah, exactly like that… Trent…" 

Though she'd done her best to keep her voice assertive before that point, he can hear the desperation begin to slip in, recognize that lilt at the end of his name. 

"I'm getting close…" she confirms his suspicions. "But I don't want you to dare come before I do. Understand me?"

He nods again. "Yes, Shirley."

"Good," she breathes. "So… Fuckin'... Good…"

She speeds up, and it takes a hell of an effort for him not to explode right about then. He listens to her low moans and high pitched gasps, trying to maintain the rhythm of his fingers, before she suddenly halts before beginning to tremble on top of him. "Oh, fuck… shit… Trent..."

Her red-painted lips fall open as she rides out her high before she stills momentarily. When she opens her eyes again, they're filled with fire.

She begins to move again. "I want you to come for me," she tells him, only sounding slightly winded. "Right now."

By some force of black magic, he does exactly that, whining as she continues to rhythmically move her hips and he comes. "Fuck… Shirley…"

And then everything stops, and she's grinning that evil grin again. "I know," she says quietly.

🖤

She doesn't stay. Trent doesn't know why that he wishes she would.

But as soon as she stands up, he's clearly as good as dead to her. 

She goes to the bathroom, comes back with some tissues to clean himself up with, then begins to pull on her clothes again. 

He watches with the keen feeling that he'll never see her in person again, – and if he does, it sure as hell won't be like this. 

After she fingercombs her hair, she turns around and shoots him a sharp glare, as bitchy as ever. 

"Learn how to watch your mouth," she tells him. "You're not nearly as evil as you think you are."

With that, she opens the door and walks away. Just like nothing ever happened.


End file.
